


Heaven, if Only for a While

by h00ligan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Homophobic John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h00ligan/pseuds/h00ligan
Summary: Dean's 17. It's his first solo mission. Why... doesn't it feel the way it should?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Heaven, if Only for a While

_January 24, 1996._

It's a crisp, cold Wednesday in Nebraska. Dean would be halfway through his Junior year, if he hadn't dropped out of high school when Dad moved them to Valentine over the holidays and decided to not come back. It wasn't like he disliked school. He was popular, he got along with the ladies, sometimes even a few guys, not that Dad would ever know that. That Dad _could_ ever know that. He passed the morning like he passed most mornings--shooting with him. It was the only time they were together on their own without Sam where he wasn't getting chewed out--or worse. He clung tight to every praise Dad had for his aim with a gun. After all, it was the only thing he could do right. And if it was the only thing he was good for, was his aim, well, all the better to keep Sammy safe with. 

The sun was well over the trees now as they headed back to the house they'd rented for the next few months, but Dad had maps on the table when they were back. Maps and a book, an iron rod. Some relief washed over Dean. _A hunt. Dad's going to be gone for a couple days. I can get Sam food_. But he wasn't expecting what Dad was about to say. 

"Dean, listen. I'm glad you're not in school anymore, but if you're going to be out of school, you have to be a man and pull your weight."

"Pull my weight? I go on missions with you whenever you let me."

"Exactly. But there's a problem in Wyoming that needs to be taken care of, and I have business up here. This is an easy job, Dean."

"What, you're saying I have a solo hunt?"

"That's not going to be a problem, is it, boy?" Dad's tone carries a little hardness, the same hardness it takes after Dean's caught with a beer bottle in his coat.

"No, sir," Dean replies timidly, casting his eyes down. 

"Good. It's St. Stephen's Indian Mission in Wyoming. There's a spirit problem there."

"On holy ground? Is anyone getting hurt?"

"Nobody's hurt, but that's not the point, is it? What is it we do? We find something that ain't supposed to be here, and we send it back to wherever the hell it came from." Dad's tone didn't carry any opportunity for discussion. "Take the Impala and the map, get there, salt and burn, and come home. And don't- _don't_ put a scratch on the car."

* * *

Dean decided he hated living in the midwest, at least for purposes of music. He'd played the same 8 track about 20 times, and the scenery? What scenery? He didn't even get radio reception. 

One nun approached as he pulled in to the convent, an old woman, with strict eyes. The kind of woman who glared at him at Sunday school, a lifetime ago, when he knew what his mother's face looked like. It fills him with nostalgia, in a way. Makes him think of a time where he believed that God kept all the demons at bay with His Son's sacrifice. 

"Mother Superior, I'm Mr. Winchester, you spoke with my father on the phone?"

"Oh, yes. I should probably show you in, then."

"What's... the problem?"

"20 years ago, our convent was disgraced by two nuns. They died, but their spirits never left. They make some awful racket in the courtyard during prayer time and play _obscene_ tunes on the organ, it's not acceptable for it to go on." _Disgraced._ He didn't need to inquire further to know what she meant. 

"And this problem is... ongoing?"

"Yes. Every hunter we've come across has said they have 'better things' than restore the integrity of our Saint. They're doing no harm, they say," she scoffs. "I'll tell you, they do harm to _us_. Them, and everyone like them. How are we supposed to follow the righteous path when we know the sin that stains these grounds? We already had to rebuild a dormitory."

Dean sees a woman with a shaved head, no habit on, at the end of the hall, whispering to someone in the next room and laughing. The woman couldn't be more than 21. "You, ah, do you have any of their possessions?"

"Heavens, no. We burned them."

"Well, that just means the job is to find the remains." 

She made a face. "There are two unmarked graves on either side of the blessed ground we bury our sisters on. We keep a shovel for our caretaker, he comes once a month."

Two graves. It'd take a day, at least. He'd never even dug up one grave on his own without Dad sighing and picking up a shovel because he wasn't doing it fast enough.

* * *

Dean ended up having to drive the Impala a good two miles away, like Hell he was about to lug a gas can and a bag of salt that far on his own if he was about to dig up two graves. He'd barely stuck his shovel in the ground when he saw the woman again.

"Who are you?" She asked. That... was strange. Spirits were rarely verbal. Especially after 20 years. 

"I don't know what that matters to you," he answered gruffly.

"Are you... are you putting our graves on hallowed ground?" There was a trace of hope in her voice as it broke. "I-I'm Grace. That was my name, at least, until they took my habit."

"You've tormented these people long enough, spirit," he said, exasperated. "So you're going down, once and for all."

She reaches out and grabs his shoulder. "No! I haven't hurt anyone! Please, we just wanted to be happy." 

Dean doesn't even process her words, he just grabs for the iron rod and stabs it through her. He didn't need distractions while he worked. He's about halfway done when she reappears. "Have you ever loved?" she asked, sadly. "I... I joined the sisters because I thought I couldn't. I thought God was all the husband I would ever need, and I love the Lord, even if He doesn't love me."

"Then why did you do it?" He asked. "You know what happens if I--if _you_ give into those feelings? Did you think you could ever be happy like that?"

"I was, for a while," she-Grace-replied. "Joan and I... I never understood that love could make your heart so much more open, until her. What we had, it wasn't wrong. You'll realize it too, one day."

"Dean," he replied, at length.

The dirt had turned to clay over the next few inches. Which had given Dean an opportunity to talk to her. Not like there was anyone around. Until another woman with a shaved head appeared. 

"Oh, dearest, I thought we were going to meet at the garden."

Grace kissed the other woman's cheek softly. "I... I don't think I can. I think it's all over for us." She looked at Dean. "Joan, meet Dean."

It took a few moments for Joan to understand what Grace meant, but when she did, choked sobs started tearing their way out of her chest. "No, I... I'm not ready. We haven't had enough time- Gracey, _I don't want to go to Hell_."

Grace held Joan through the sobs, rubbing her back. "We could always go to Purgatory. Wait a few years, be together in Heaven."

"Not, not after we _desecrated the convent!_ Grace, God doesn't forgive suicides."

"There was _nothing_ wrong with how we feel. I don't care what any pope says. What happened to us, that was _their_ fault, Joan."

Dean knew that couldn't be true, and was going to say it, when he hit wood. He went for the gas, but Grace shrieked. "Stop!"

"What?"

"I can't convince you to... not do this, but please, we wanted to be buried together. Even if it's for a few seconds before you do it. I don't want to leave her alone."

What kind of a man would Dean be not to fulfill a dying wish? "Fine."

It takes hours more to dig up Joan's grave, and by the time he finishes, he realizes, they're not bad. They're not like any spirits he's met. They _joke_ , they laugh, there's something so human about them. They even get a smile out of Dean.

"I have a... confession to make."

"Well usually, that's a priest's job," Joan teased. "But we'll oblige."

"I... I know what you mean. About... the way you are. Because I'm kind of like that too. Sometimes I see boys and I just don't know what to do."

Grace placed a hand on his shoulder again, but this time, it eased him. "Dean, there's nothing wrong with any of that. God wouldn't make you that way if what you felt was wrong."

"If that's true, then why did you stay here so long?"

"Because... we didn't know where we'd end up. But like this, here, at home, it felt like Heaven, even if it was only for a little while."

Dean cracked open Joan's casket, carried Grace's bones over silently. He hugged each of them, and tried not to let his eyes water when they sat beside each other overlooking their newly-shared grave, feet dangling over the hole. "We're ready." He poured the salt on the bodies, then the gas, took the hotel matchbook, and dropped it down.

He didn't know if it was a mirage of the smoke, but as they disappeared, they shared a kiss.

* * *

Dean decided, on the drive back, that what had just happened was a one-time thing, a special case. No other supernatural creature could possibly be like that. John yelled at a puffy-eyed dean as he walked in the door, a day and a half later. 

"That was an easy fucking salt and burn, Dean, you should've been home _hours_ ago." He sighed. "At least tell me you got the job done. Did you see them disappear?"

Dean nodded numbly.

"Good. Serves people like them right." And that sentence was enough for Dean to push back every feeling he started to accept once he started talking to Grace.

* * *

_2008_

Dean takes shower after shower at Bobby's. The hard water doesn't wash the taste of dirt and decay from his mouth and his nails are stained brown from all the dirt from clawing himself up. There's new life in him, after Hell. He shouldn't have been brought back, and he had _words_ for whatever bastard demon did it.

Seeing Castiel's wings makes him think of those poor women he salted and burned. Grace would've wanted to see them, to know there was hope. Joan would've fallen at his feet. 

"You don't think you deserve to be saved." And Castiel is here, staring into his soul. But he doesn't deserve to be saved, is the thing. People who deserve to be saved... they don't notice the rugged good looks of the angel, don't look at their lips. He knew that everything he wanted was wrong, if angels were real. So _why did he save him_?

**Author's Note:**

> Grace and Joan go to Heaven as their corpses burn, because I make the rules. And they're in the same Heaven.


End file.
